


Let's Get Sirius

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8086702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Archer must make a hard decision concerning Porthos. Archer/m. (07/08/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: My beautiful puppy Lisa, who shared my life for twelve wonderful years, had to be put to sleep because of the very problems mentioned above. I still can't believe she's goneDedicated to Lisa, who is probably chasing a squirrel somewhere.  


* * *

Jonathan Archer woke up to a gagging sound and looked around in the darkness for a befuddled moment before calling out, "Lights, low." In the soft light that issued from the ceiling, he sat up and surveyed his quarters. The gagging sound continued without the cause being readily apparent.

Throwing back the covers and putting his feet on the floor, Jon halted almost immediately, then pulled a foot back and looked at the bottom of it. A frothy, slimy substance covered the pink skin, making it glisten.

"Ugh." He looked down at the floor and saw shiny trails of the stuff criss-crossing what had been a near-spotless and definitely dry floor when he went to bed. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, reaching for a tissue to wipe his foot clean.

The gagging sound suddenly got louder, and Porthos staggered into view from around the foot of the bed, making Archer forget about his foot.

"Porthos?" he asked uncertainly as the beagle continued to stagger-walk toward him, gagging and periodically vomiting the same white, frothy slime that now covered the floor.

"Hey, boy," Archer said softly as he rose and met his dog halfway, ignoring the slimy floor. "What's wrong, pup?"

Porthos' tail wagged limply, but he continued to gag and cough.

Jon watched in great concern for a moment, while running his hands over the short fur, looking for any injuries. Nothing, but the dog's stomach did seem to be bigger than he remembered. Closing his eyes for a moment to fortify himself, he reached for the dog's muzzle and quickly swiped an index finger through Porthos' mouth, from cheek to cheek, checking even his gums to make sure there was nothing in the dog's mouth choking him. Other than the frothy slime, his mouth was clear.

Wiping his hands on a corner of the sheet, then running the cloth quickly over the soles of both feet, Archer dressed quickly, carefully scooped up the still-gagging dog and ran as fast as he could for the Sickbay.

"Doctor!" he called as the Sickbay doors slid aside for him. "Phlox! Where are you?!"

"I'm here, I'm here," came the Denobulan's reassuring voice from the back room where he slept. After a moment, he came into view, tying the sash on his robe. "Oh, dear. What's wrong with Porthos?"

"I don't know," Archer said helplessly. "He's throwing up this white stuff; it's all over my quarters."

"Here," Phlox motioned toward one of the bio-beds, "set him down."

Archer gently set Porthos down, steadying him when the beagle's automatic head-down gagging action caused him to stagger sideways. "I've checked his mouth, but there's nothing choking him."

Phlox pulled out a scanner and made a quick adjustment to it for non-human lifeforms. "Well, let's just see what's causing the problem, shall we, fellow?" He ran the device over Porthos' shaking form, then looked at the viewscreen over the bed to see the results. "Oh..." he muttered with a frown. He ran the scanner over the dog's abdomen again, more slowly this time, criss-crossing it several times, then looking up at the viewscreen. "Oh, dear..."

"Doctor...?" Jon asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid Porthos has swallowed quite a lot of air, and his stomach is quite distended."

"Oh." Archer nodded. That didn't sound too bad.

"And he doesn't seem to be passing it on into his intestines."

"Uh-huh," Archer said, his eyes gazing at the Denobulan intently.

"That's why he's gagging—he's trying to get rid of the air. It must be very uncomfortable for him, not to mention the pressure the expanded stomach is putting on the blood vessels that lie along either side of it, slowing down their flow of blood."

Archer winced and gently rubbed his dog's swollen abdomen. "What can you do?"

"Well, since it's important to reduce the area as soon as possible, and since Porthos can't seem to do it on his own, we can put a small needle into his stomach to let the air out."

Porthos gagged again, a trail of frothy white slime hanging from the left side of his muzzle. He groaned softly, then gagged again.

"Do it," Archer urged Phlox. "He's hurting. Please, do it now."

"Of course." The Denobulan busily gathered a hypospray and several instruments together, then turned back to Archer. "Captain, if you would lay Porthos on his side. Gently now...."

Carefully, Jon put his arms around his dog, lifted him slightly and tilted him over. Porthos struggled, not understanding, but lay still, panting heavily once he was over on his side. Archer petted him behind his ears, then stepped back to allow Phlox access.

"All right, fellow, this is going to make you feel better," Phlox murmured soothingly as he hissed a hypospray against Porthos' neck. "It's a mild painkiller," he told Archer. "It'll make this not pinch quite so much." With a deft hand, he used a hollow needle to puncture the beagle's abdomen, pushing it in, riding the jerking motion of Porthos' small yelp, then tearing off long strips of tape and securing the needle in place. Finally, he placed his hands on the beagle's stomach and pressed gently, inviting Archer to, "Listen...."

Jon leaned close and cocked his ear, picking up a quiet hiss that held steady for a few seconds, then tapered off. It sounded again when Phlox moved his hands slightly and pressed down again, but fell silently again almost immediately.

Porthos had stopped gagging, and his stomach had reduced quite a lot in size as he lay panting on the bio-bed, but Phlox had runned the scanner again and was shaking his head.

"Doctor...?" Jon asked worriedly. "The air came out. That's good, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" Phlox looked back from the viewscreen and met his captain's eyes. "Oh, yes, yes, that's very good. But the needle is only so long and there is still a pocket of air trapped in the stomach." He glanced back at the viewscreen, then down at Porthos. "His respirations are slowing and he's no longer attempting to expel the air. Why don't we put him into the box we used last time he was ill and let him rest? He may expel the rest of the air naturally through his intestines."

Nodding, Jon waited for Phlox to retrieve the clear perspex box that served as a temporary cage, then gently lifted the beagle and laid him down on the blanket inside, careful not to jostle the taped-down needle. Once Porthos was settled and calm again, Phlox told Archer he could wait, but that it could take several hours, and didn't he want to go back to bed?

Jon could tell Phlox heard his own bed calling to him, so he nodded and, after a last gentle rub on a velvet ear, he left Sickbay. Two steps down the corridor, he turned around and came back, catching Phlox in the middle of returning to his room. "You'll keep me informed?" he asked worriedly.

"Absolutely, Captain," the doctor assured him. "Immediately."

Archer nodded again and left.

* * *

Four hours later, Trip found Archer back in Sickbay, staring at a sleeping Porthos. The needle had been removed and Trip had been informed of the beagle's condition—so here they sat. Together. Silently. Watching.

After another ten minutes had passed, in which Jon sat quietly and Porthos snored, Trip cleared his throat. "So, let me get this straight, Cap'n. We're sitting here, waiting for this dog...to fart...?"

Phlox entered the curtained-off area he had set aside for Porthos to see what the odd noise was, and found his captain and Commander Tucker slumped against each other, giggling hysterically.

* * *

Two hours later, Archer was paged by Phlox. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Please come to Sickbay, Captain. I have some news for you."

Archer didn't bother to ask if it was good news or bad news—he threw command to T'Pol with a rapid jerk of his hand and ran for the turbolift. He kicked at the front wall of the car when it took longer than ten seconds to get him to Sickbay. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered.

When the doors opened, he dashed down the corridor, slapped at the Sickbay doors that didn't move aside fast enough and pulled up in front of Phlox.

"What, what is it? Is he okay? Is he—?" Phlox gave him a 'calm down' motion and Archer took a deep breath. "Sorry. What is it, Dr. Phlox?"

The Denobulan led him back to the curtained-off area and gestured to the beagle, whose stomach was once again distended. "He's swallowed more air, I'm afraid."

Archer rolled his eyes. They'd already been through this. And here the doctor had made him think it was a life-and-death situation! "Just put in another needle and—"

"No," Phlox interrupted softly, "I'm afraid it's more serious this time." He ran a scanner over Porthos, then pointed to the viewscreen on the wall behind the nearest bio-bed. A faint outline of the beagle had appeared, as well as ghostly images of what Archer could only imagine were the dog's interior organs.

"Here," Phlox pointed to a large, round area. "This is his stomach, full of air once again."

"Just like this morning," Archer put in.

"Yes, but you see this dark part back here?" He pointed to what looked like a long worm, wide and fat at the beginning and thinning down further on, doubled and tripled back on itself. Part of it was faintly white, but a small section sitting below the round, distended stomach was darkly outlined. "This is the bottom of Porthos' stomach, where it feeds into his intestines, and this dark part is where it has twisted upon itself, cutting off its blood supply and oxygen."

"Oh, God..." Archer whispered, sinking to his knees and reaching for his panting dog's head, rubbing him behind the ears. He looked up at Phlox. "You can fix that, can't you? Surgery or something?"

"Normally, yes," the Denobulan agreed. "We could go in and untwist the stomach and bowel, and tack the stomach against the back of the abdominal cavity. But if we did, there's no guarantee it wouldn't happen again. According to my research, some dogs are just generally prone to this type of twisting."

"I don't care," Archer snapped, though his hands never stopped their gentle petting. "You'll do it. And you'll keep doing it no matter how many times it twists. You can't leave him in pain like this!"

"I agree, Captain," Phlox said softly. "But there is something you're not aware of regarding Porthos. When he was in Sickbay last time, I had several opportunities to scan him thoroughly, and I discovered that he has a heart arrythmia."

"What?!"

"His heart doesn't beat efficiently, and because of this, it has grown enlarged to try to keep pace with the level of blood his body requires. This makes him tire faster than normal, and there is always the risk of his heart simply stopping without warning."

"Why didn't you tell me this months ago, damn you?" Archer demanded angrily, thinking in shame of all the times he had played fetch with his beagle until the dog had collapsed at his feet, panting in exhaustion.

Phlox looked down at him steadily. "Because the only treatment," he answered flatly, "is a heart transplant. And I'm very aware that a 'pet' in your society doesn't rate such radical surgery."

Jon opened his mouth to shout again, then looked away, letting his breath out explosively. Phlox was right. Heart transplants for dogs were unheard of, and where would Phlox have gotten another heart, anyway? Starfleet Command would hardly have sanctioned Enterprise returning to Earth for a mere _dog_.

"You're right," he whispered tightly.

Phlox put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Because of his heart arrythmia," he went on softly, "Porthos would never survive going under the anesthesia required for the surgery. He would most likely die within a few minutes of being put under."

Porthos whined and attempted to get to his feet, aware his master was sad. With a gasp, Jon carefully gathered the beagle in and buried his face in the short brown and white fur. After a moment, he looked up again, a grim expression on his face and unshed tears in his eyes. "Is there _anything_ you can do for him?" he begged.

Phlox nodded, his own usually jovial expression gone. "Porthos is in severe pain, Captain. If we attempt surgery, he will die. If we leave him as he is, he will suffer for another day or so, and still die. I can give him painkillers, but they won't stop the inevitable, only keep him mostly comfortable while he dies." He took a deep breath. "Or—"

"Or you can put him to sleep," Archer finished for him dully.

"Yes," the Denobulan agreed softly, "euthanasia."

Porthos whined again and his back left leg clawed weakly at his stomach in an attempt to get at the source of pain. Archer closed his eyes tightly and held his beloved pet close for a moment, then nodded. "If it's the only way..." he whispered.

"Yes, Captain, it is," came the quiet answer.

The beagle whined and licked Archer's hand, then leaned against him tiredly, panting. The white, frothy slime was beginning to appear in his mouth again.

"Do it," Jon ordered in a strangled growl. "Just put him out of his pain."

"Of course, Captain." Phlox donned his professionalism like a glove and began to gather the necessary instruments.

Archer ignored him, absorbed in petting and rubbing his dog, murmuring assurances to him and wiping away tears that made his cheeks itch as they trailed down them. "It's okay, Porthos, there's a good boy, you're such a good boy, the pain'll be gone soon, good boy, Porthos..." He hiccuped and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He was _not_ going to fall apart here! Not here, not now. Porthos needed him.

Phlox stepped up next to the clear box and Archer threw his head back angrily, his blue eyes glittering a challenge. The doctor stood still, waiting, and finally Archer let out a deep sigh, dropping his head. Phlox knelt down beside him and showed him the two hyposprays in his hand.

"These combine together into a fast-acting relaxant. Porthos will simply...go to sleep. No more pain, right, fellow?" he murmured to the beagle. Porthos whined and began to cough.

Archer buried his face against the dog's silk head and struggled not to strike out at the doctor when he heard first one, then the other hypospray activate. Porthos growled softly at Phlox, but Jon could feel the beagle lick Phlox's hand. Over and over, he stroked the short fur, his hands counting the breaths as they struggled out of the small body. Five...then ten...eleven...twel....And no more.

But Jon kept stroking the soft fur, his mind full of memories. Picking him from amongst his littermates because he alone had stood and barked a challenge at the stranger. Racing around the park, revving him into a barking frenzy, then throwing a frizbee as hard as he could, watching the little dynamo charge after it. Soft brown eyes staring warmly at him, no matter what odd human thing he was doing at the time. A tiny puppy sleeping on his chest. A full-grown dog sitting up for a treat or playing tug-of-war with him over a chewtoy. Befuddled, but happy barking when a newly-commissioned starship got her captain and her captain got roaring drunk. A warm foot-cozy curled up against him when he sat, reading late into the night. Love in a four-footed, fur-covered amazing companion of a dog. All gone.

With tears blinding his eyes and heartache fogging his mind, he wasn't sure how long he sat there—or how he got back to his quarters. He had a vague memory of sad voices and comforting hugs, murmurs of condolence by Trip, Malcolm, Hoshi...possibly even T'Pol, but he wasn't sure of that. He only knew that he was back where it had all started. But he was alone.

He crawled off his bed, not feeling stable enough to stand, and made his way around the foot of the bed, not noticing that the frothy, white slime had been cleaned up. His eyes were on a singular goal and he crawled forward determinedly. When he reached Porthos' bed, he lay down on the floor, wrapped his arms around it, buried his face into the cloth that still smelled of his beagle, and let go...

* * *

The following morning, Archer conducted a funeral for Porthos and launched a small tube out into space. With a stoic face that would have made any Vulcan proud, he nodded solemnly at each person's whispered condolence and thanked them. "He's in a better place now." "He's not in pain anymore." "You did the right thing, Captain." He heard the words over and over until they lost meaning.

"Jon." The quiet voice got his attention, made him look up. Trip Tucker looked down at him, pain and sorrow, and just a small amount of...glee?...in his eyes. He held out his hand to his captain. "Come with me."

Archer transfered his untouched drink to his left hand and stood up. He took Trip's hand, and was led over to a corner viewscreen that showed a star chart. Jon cocked his head; he knew this one. It was familiar. This was...

"Canis Majoris," Tucker said proudly, standing at his shoulder. Jon noticed Malcolm Reed had joined them as well. "As seen from the Northern hemisphere of Earth. And that big star right there—"

"—Is Sirius," Jon finished for him. "The Dog Star."

"Yup." Tucker grinned and rocked on his heels, adding no explanation.

Sighing in exasperation, Malcolm slapped Trip's shoulder. "Tell him _why_ he's looking at the Dog Star, you prat."

"Oh. Right!" Tucker grinned again. He nodded at the chart of Canis Majoris. "That's where I sent Porthos."

"To the...Dog Star?" Jon asked.

"Well, can you think of anyplace more appropriate?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"'Course it'll take him a few light-years to get there, going on one-thirty-second impulse, but..."

Trip trailed off, glancing quickly over at Malcolm. Too much, too soon?

Reed raised his shoulders in a nearly imperceptible shrug, prepared to grab Tucker and get him out of their captain's sight as quickly as possible if Archer reacted badly.

Jon was silent for several moments, gazing at the viewscreen and the chart it showed, then he slowly raised his drink and saluted the bright star. "Hang on, Sirius—Porthos is comin'!"


End file.
